she will be loved
by dazzling embers
Summary: Three parts, for two people, on one date. (For MimbTheHufflepuffGirl).
1. Dressing

**She Will Be Loved**  
"heart beats fast, colors and promises, how to be brave."

/

Luna Lovegood's blonde hair falls down her back in tiny curls at the bottom. Her light sea green colored dress ends loosely above her knees to have the rim in lavender. A flower design sits, darker green, on the left leg of her attire. It's Fleur's idea to apply a bit of mascara and blush, pronouncing her features.

**There aren't bruises anywhere. She looks perfect.**

The brown boots she's sliding her feet into have a small heel, but leave her knees fully exposed. They'll jingle as she walks. She can't forget the white knitted beanie Dean had given her just yesterday. It will be cold. Wrackspurts think this chilly weather wonderful. She grabs her jacket and turns off the lights.

**There is a pink lip-gloss smile on her face. She feels perfect.**

The black, oval, full-length mirror Luna stood in front of is alone to reflect the corner of her bed, which has all her preparation materials thrown on top. This will be a night to remember.

* * *

He's hops a little while putting on his brand new red jeans. (_"The color is matching the Polo you have," Fleur told him_). As a boy, Dean Thomas isn't into fashion, so he obliges. He kind of cherishes that shirt since his mum got it for him last Christmas. It takes him several minutes to retrieve it from his cream-walled, sloppy closet.

**Where's his pencil? He's not sure; this dampers his spirit a bit.**

Bill wants him to organize, however, he keeps forgetting. The seventeen-year-old straightens his collar. Once finished, he shoves his yellow-socked feet inside silver lace less Muggle Converse. These sneakers are his favorite; it's advised not wear them to tonight as they've small streaks of dirt.

**Where's his silly pencil? He still doesn't see it here; maybe he should Accio it.**

Everything is perfect because Dean looks fine, feels great. But, even though his nerves are high, he cannot wait, so he heads toward the door, lights down with his autumn coat in hand.

* * *

"We don't need to lose anyone." Bill grins. "Ron's visit is enough."  
Luna descends to the floor off the step. "Dean knows where he's going. It's okay."

And Dean bites his lip. He follows in time, though for Luna to ask him to spin her. She twirls breathtakingly easy as Fleur photographs the moment to last forever. He can't help relishing everything before that shutter snaps.

* * *

Luna is running out of Shell Cottage; she's faster than wind, and her blond mane is flying behind, but Dean's quick as well. (Two can play at this game). They keep each other's pace. Whatever breath they had is gone; Dean's laughing.  
"That..." he pauses for air. "...has to be the most exhilarating experience ever!"  
" I know!"

* * *

Apparition happens in a pop at the edge of the woods. Now, the magic will begin.

* * *

_Hi there! I've been neglecting author's notes. Please don't kill me! Okay, so, this is the first chapter of a three-chaptered fiction. Review and tell me what you think. For MimbTheHufflepuffGirl, who wanted more of my other DeanLuna story. Don't fave without a review! Thanks._


	2. Drawing

**She Will Be Loved**

"i won't let these little things slip out of my mouth."

/

They've long since escaped the heart of New York City for a small bistro, one of which Dean doesn't remember the name of. Luna has some Muggle beer and he considers _listinglistinglisting_ all ways tonight might just go wrong. Only he doesn't because, really, he wouldn't mind.

**She passes him his pencil. He grins.**

"Here, I found it."

"Thanks. Where?"

"Oh, you know, just somewhere!" Luna giggles a bit drunkenly.

All he does is roll his eyes.

He begins creating a piece, depicting her. She slumped in her metal chair; her back is resting on it with a smile on her face. Those silver-gray orbs are the best component of his work, quickly becoming the focus of his composition. Their silence only lasts one short minute before she interrupts again.

"Yes?"

"What're you drawing?"

Dean hands it to her for a glance. "You."

"Sort of looks me." The girl steals his pencil and starts making additions.

"Hey—"

A finger of her own meets her lips. "It's okay!" His paper returns to him.

This book of his goes away.

**She passes him his pencil. He grins.**

* * *

The alcohol makes her head spin. She's _dizzydizzydizzy_. Suddenly, she's falling. She's on the sidewalk beside the table. And a rock ends up by her somehow, however she creates a picture. Luna Lovegood sits on her butt, twisting herself, propped up on her left arm.

It's a tracing of her hand as well as one of Dean Thomas' who has joined her, mirroring her pose on the opposite side of her art. Scripted underneath is: "I don't know about you, but I am an artist."

That beer she is supposed to be drinking is half full; she doesn't want anymore. So, she thrusts it towards his empty hands.

** Beer is bitter. Dean is sweet.**

Patiently, she observes him take a swig. It's kind of hilarious since he drowns all in one sip.

"Hm…not bad."

"Not bad."

"Budweiser's better, though!"

"Muggle beer, Dean?"

"Luna?" She nods, listening. "Muggle beer."

He assists her in getting up. They leave the waiter a tip for absolutely nothing when the leave.

**Beer is bitter. Dean is sweet.**

* * *

They're walking to a place, along the sidewalk, called Central Park to the beat of the music, floating out a bar window. In exactly the middle of the stroll, he twirls her in circles, gripping her artist hand. And its _grandgrandgrand_. Their fingers and palms become interlaced for the rest of the trip, happily swinging whilst the two walk on. Luna can't wait to arrive there. Dean can't wait to show her.

* * *

It will be marvelous!

* * *

**AN: Chapter Two is here! I apologize for the **_**longlonglong**_** wait. Do enjoy this. Please don't favorite without a review. Thanks!**


	3. Dancing

**She Will Be Loved**

"i'm right here trying to pull you through."

* * *

"Oh my." Luna squeezes Dean's hand a little harder. "It's…"

"Beautiful?" he suggests.

She nods.

* * *

Her hand is stretched out, fingers wide as they lay in grass. Inches away. Impossibly close. He reaches and she holds. The next thing he knows is _her_ by his ear.

"Dance with me?"

Maybe it's the artist in him or the muse in her, but Dean can hear the mystical creatures and hope in her voice. Everyone has constantly said that war changes people. Not Luna. She's honestly so much better than those Slytherin creeps, wary Gryffindors, weirded-out Hufflepuffs, and nasty Death Eaters give her credit for And, really how could anyone say no to her?

(Of course, she'll talk of invisible nature that half drives him insane, with his head banging his filled sketchbook, and yet, has him adoring her, hanging on for more).

"Sure." He smiles his most dazzling.

* * *

She spins. She's held by his palm on her waist. They sway, dip, don't step on feet; they spin again like their lives depend on it. A piece of her—a small piece—decides that maybe it does. The loud bar music switches to a slower song, whose notes sing a different tune than the words out of the speakers. Dean Thomas is a lovely, magical dancer.

Luna grins as her tresses are scooped by the wind. Her back leans against his chest. The stars begin to shine; Luna tilts her head to look, leaving Dean to twirl strands on his finger. As clouds pass, rain falls like a waterfall. She spins beneath his arm one last time.

(Even never read a Muggle fairytale, she knows—just knows—the one thing missing is that cliché kiss).

* * *

_The first time_

Their noses bump together.

Their laughing slows them down.

_The second time_

Their laughing slows them down again.

Their laughing slows them down some more.

_The third time_

Their kiss is magic.

Their kiss doesn't stop happening, almost.

* * *

That's finally a wrap! Whoo-hoo.


End file.
